


Sign of the Times

by BepsiBitch69



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Rewrite
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:22:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28362372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BepsiBitch69/pseuds/BepsiBitch69
Summary: After the events on the Astronomy Tower in June of 1997, Harry is sent back to Privet Drive with the knowledge of the war he is simply waiting to fight. With the help of his friends, he decides to break out and take a more pro-active approach in the war.My take on Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows
Relationships: Hermione Granger & Harry Potter
Kudos: 6





	1. Maximum Security

**Author's Note:**

> Though especially noticeable in the prologue, I have taken heavy inspiration in some regards from other books that will remain unnamed out of sheer embarrasment. I hope this doesn't detract your enjoyment of this story, and only enhances it. I believe both universes to be compatible enough that if done correctly they can fit together seamlessly. If you have an issue with this, then maybe this fic isn't for you, as I'm writing this fic as a sort of love letter to the two book series' that I grew up reading and re-reading repeatedly.
> 
> I just hope that my enjoyment of them can be accurately translated into a fic that even more people can enjoy.

**Prologue**

**Maximum Security**

The sky was clear, and the stars were bright, and George had fallen asleep on the grass. Fred nudged him and he murmured a bit before coming round.

“You were supposed to be keeping an eye on the place,” Fred said.

“I was,” George yawned.

“You were asleep.”

“I was resting my eyes.”

“You were snoring.”

“I was exercising my lungs.”

“Get up.”

Grumbling, he got to his feet and stretched. He couldn’t stretch very far, in case his hands protruded out of the bush they were hidden in. Fred and George Weasley were relatively new members of the Order of the Phoenix, but what they lacked in experience they made up for in pranks, tenacity and cool hair.

“Hi, Hermione,” he said.

“Hi, George.”

“So, is this your first time watching Harry?”

She nodded, looking around. “It seems a bit weird, I won’t lie. I kinda don’t like the idea of it at all, I just wanted to see how sophisticated the Order’s set up was.”

“It’s fine, don’t worry. Harry knows we’re here, so it isn’t like we’re watching him without his knowledge. We aren’t even watching _him_ really. We’re watching the rest of the street.”

Hermione frowned. “That’s so much worse.”

Fred hesitated slightly. “Yeah, but only a little bit. Anyway, we aren’t, like, being weird or anything. We’re looking out for Death Eaters. We have to stay in a bush so we aren’t seen. A joke shop salary isn’t quite that of an Auror, so we can’t get invisibility cloaks like Tonks or Mad Eye.”

"Good luck explaining that if the police catch you."

"What?"

Hermione took George’s ominoculars, and took at peek at the house that he was supposed to have been watching, Number 11 Privet Drive. As she did, she heard Fred turn to George, and saw him glare at his twin out of the corner of her eye. Their attempts to pass as muggle were not horrible, she had to admit. George was wearing baggy jeans and a faded _Star Wars_ T-shirt. Fred seemed to be favouring gym tops, and a gold watch with his joggers.

“I can’t believe you fell asleep.” Fred said.

“I didn’t fall asleep.”

“Then how do you know if she’s home or not?”

“I haven’t a clue,” George admitted. “I fell asleep.”

Hermione had never spent a tremendous amount of time around the twins, but she felt she knew them well enough by now to know that, given the opportunity, they would stand in this bush and do this for hours. So, she turned and walked towards the house, and after a moment, they followed her.

They arrived at the door, and Fred knocked three times. They waited and the door was opened by a frowning girl.

“Hello,” Fred said with a smile that she didn’t return.

“Do you know what time it is?” The girl asked, an Irish lilt to her voice. Hermione judged her to be around her age, maybe seventeen or eighteen. She had pale skin and full lips and luxuriant blonde hair that framed her face.

“Why no,” Fred replied, as if it were a game. “What time is it?”

She scowled. “What do you want?”

“My name is Fred and this is my brother George – we’re the Weasley Twins. We’re here with our friend Hermione Granger, and we were wondering if your grandmother was home.”

“You’re the Weasley Twins?”

“Indeed we are. You’ve probably heard of us. Owners of Weasley Wizard Wheezes, our first foray into the world of business.”

“And you want my grandmother?”

“If your grandmother is Arabella Figg, yes.”

“Are you going to hurt her?”

“I’m sorry? Oh, no! No, nothing like that. We just want to talk to her.”

“So you’re not going to hurt her?”

“No,” Fred said with a laugh, “I assure you, she’s quite safe.”

The girls eyes narrowed. “How do I know I can trust you?”

“We came here unarmed,” Fred said cheerfully, and George looked at him.

“You’re unarmed?” he asked, surprised.

“Yes,” Fred said. “Aren’t you?”

“Well, I suppose so. Apart from my wand.”

Fred glared at him. “What? Why did you bring your wand? I told you to come unarmed.”

“I thought you were joking.”

“Why would I be joking?”

“I don’t know, I thought that’s what made it funny.”

Fred looked like he might strangle his brother, but then forced the smile back on his face and turned once again to the girl.

“I’m sorry, miss, I didn’t catch your name…?”

“Lucy,” the girl answered, suspicious.

“Lucy, it’s a pleasure to meet you. My brother here has many problems; he’s quite bright in his own way, but likes taking wands to inappropriate places. Let me assure you that we mean your grandmother no harm. We just want to talk to her.”

“Why?”

Hermione decided to step forward before either of the Weasley Twins could make the situation worse. “We’re looking for a friend of ours. Maybe you’ve seen him? Tall? Skinny? Wears stupid suits? Also he’s ginger? His name’s Ron Weasley and he’s wandered off on his own and we think your gran might know where he is.”

“Why would my grandmother know that?”

“Because he came to see her, and that’s the last we heard of him.”

“We don’t have much to do with magic-folk.” Lucy said. “They don’t like us and we don’t like them. I don’t recall seeing your friend.”

“I think you’re lying,” Hermione said bluntly.

Lucy smiled coldly. “What if I am? What are you going to do about it?”

“Whatever I have to,”

“Ah, there it is, the arrogance that my grandmother is always talking about. The witches and wizards of the world love to think they’re benevolent, and kind to the mere muggles of the world, defending them against the likes of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, yet when their own kind turn out to be that, a muggle – a squib, then all of that benevolence flies out the window, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Hermione said, not at all in the mood to argue. “That’s really interesting. Is your granny home? Could we talk to her?”

“She’s home,” said Lucy. “She’s busy though.”

“Doing what?”

“Squibby things.”

“Could we come in?”

“No.”

“We’re coming in, with or without your permission.”

“I’d like to see you try.”

“No, you really wouldn’t.”

“I think,” George said quickly, “that the wrong foot has been gotten off of. Lucy, you seem to me to be a lovely girl, and I sense a sort of kindness in your eyes which reminds me of a newborn fawn, or the noble hedgehog. We’re very worried, as you can imagine, and some of us, without naming any names, might be a little more short-tempered than usual.”

“I’m not short tempered,” said Hermione.

“Then how did you know I was referring to you?”

“Because you pointed.” Hermione said, pointedly.

“Getting back to the subject at hand,” George said quickly, dropping his hand. “Lucy, we would really appreciate it if you’d let us in. Please?”

Lucy looked at him, but didn’t respond.

“Um,” said George, “hello?”

“Quiet,” she said. “I’m thinking.” She chewed a plump lip, and then she sighed. “I don’t really get along with my grandmother. She’s stuck in her ways and… I look at her and she’s all withered and stuff and I don’t want to end up like that, you know? I don’t want to live in a house in the middle of a boring street for the rest of my life. I want to live in the city. I want to wear high-heeled shoes every once in a while, and do things that don’t feel so… boring.”

George nodded. “I understand and sympathise with everything you’ve just said, apart from the bit about the high-heeled shoes, which I clearly wouldn’t know anything about.”

Lucy sighed again, but stepped out of the doorway and splayed her arm. “She’s upstairs.”

The threesome filed through, George and Fred following Lucy upstairs.

“I’ll look around down here,” Hermione called up after them, and as soon as they were gone, she opened the front door, and a flick of her wand had it locked behind her. She ran down the path, looking both ways before she crossed the road and down the side of Number 4 Privet drive, melting into the shadows where Ron was waiting for her.

“That took you long enough,” Ron said quietly, a light smirk tugging at his lips.

Hermione smoothed out her top as she crouched next to him. “Mrs. Figg’s granddaughter wouldn’t let us in.”

Ron frowned. “She has a granddaughter?”

“Yeah,”

Ron perked up slightly, looking over her head and across the road to the house. “She pretty?”

“Ron.”

“Right. Yeah, right, sorry. Was she though? No, never mind. Harry’s window is the second from the right on the back of the house. It should have holes in the wall where they drilled the bars onto it in sec-“

Hermione gripped Ron’s arm, turning him to her, and stared. “The what?”

Ron shrugged her off. “The bars, the ones they put on in second year.”

“They put _bars_ on his window?”

“Yeah.”

“And you never brought this up? No _wonder_ he never wanted to go back to them.”

“I thought it was a normal muggle thing,” Ron said. “Like a fashion or a style or something. It’s not?”

Hermione jerked her arm to the street behind her. “How many houses do you see back there with _bars_ on the windows?”

“Ah,” Ron said, after a moment. “I see. Well, I didn't say it was a _wise_ style thing.”

“You see? Well that’s just lovely. Let’s go break our friend out.” She hissed, moving past him and unlatching the fence gate, slipping into the back garden with Ron right behind her.

Despite her ever lowering opinion on the Dursley family, Hermione could appreciate the well kept back garden. She pressed her back to the wall of the house, just before she quickly ran past the sliding glass doors, and beneath Harry’s window. She looked over at Ron, still on the other side of the house, and jerked her head upwards, the question on her face. Ron nodded, and Hermione mimicked the action, before another flick of her wand caused the window above her to open.

Harry’s head peeked out, and Hermione couldn’t help the smile that spread across her face.

**~*~**

“Thank you Mrs. Figg, I’m sorry about the misunderstanding.” Fred said with a polite smile as he exited the room, shutting the door behind his twin, and turning to the non-Weasley redhead in the room. “And thank you very much Lucy, and my humblest apologies for the rude intrusion.”

“It’s okay,” Lucy shrugged, leading them down the fight of stairs. “You’d be surprised how often it happens with Dumbledore’s bird club. Your angry friend has gone.”

George frowned. “She has?”

“She has.”

The twins gave each other a look, before they pushed past each other to the ground floor and noticed the significant lack of bushy hair. George poked his head into the living room whilst Fred opened the kitchen door.

“I do believe,” George said slowly. “That you are right.”

Lucy’s mouth twitched downwards. “I don’t understand.”

“Hermione was the one who told us Ron had come to see you,” George explained to Lucy. “She said he’d come to talk about recruiting your grandmother to the Order as a spy again. That he didn’t tell us because he wanted it to be his ticket in. Which is exactly the kind of stupid thing that he would do, so of course we believed her.”

“And then Ron ‘disappears’,” Fred said, air quoting the word. “And she, as his concerned friend, insists on coming to help him. Here. To Privet Drive, the one place the Order has said that she can’t go.”

The two made their way to the door, and tried to open it, to find it locked. George turned the key, and the lock clicked open, but the door still wouldn’t budge.

“George,” said Fred. “I think that our dear Miss Granger has fooled us.”

George nodded sombrely. “We’ve been had. We’ve been tricked. And quite possibly, bamboozled.”

Fred grinned. “I’m so proud.”


	2. The Corpse Trail

**The Corpse Trail**

The steps leading down were stone, old and cold and cracked. The walls were tight on either side, and curved with the steps as they sank into the darkness. The air was sharp and chill.

“Bloody hell,” Harry said, shivering, moving slightly sideways to stop his broad shoulders brushing against the crumbling old brick. “As secret entrances go, this is not what I’d call a good one.”

“Quit whining,” Hermione said, having a similar problem with her hips, and executing a similar solution. “How difficult was this place to get into? To even find? It’s as good a secret entrance as any.”

Ron grunted slightly from ahead of the two of them as some of the wall crumbled around his elbow. “Doesn’t make it any more fun to be in. I’m ninety percent sure there are a million spiders in here, and if one touches me, you’re on your own.”

“There aren’t any spiders in here,” Hermione told him. “This place has been magically sealed since the early 1700’s. We had to break that seal to get in - everything that was alive in here died a very long time ago.”

“Oh,” Ron said dryly. “Thanks. I feel so much better.”

Hermione was right, the ‘secret entrance’ _was_ extremely difficult to find. It was an old service duct hidden inside of a false panel in St Pauls Cathedral, with an extremely strong, and extremely old _notice me not_ ward surrounding it. At Hermione’s guess, it was as old as the Ministry at the very least, but most likely older. It had been used in the Ministry’s construction in the early 16th century, as a method to move the workers in and out of the excavation site. They’d passed a few of the cracked, obsidian tiles that the foyer of the Ministry, and all its corridors, were famous for, buried in almost three and a half centuries of dust. The tunnel was likely as old as the Cathedral itself, and Hermione speculated that the construction of the Cathedral had been used to cover up the large amount of rock being extracted, and that some of the excavated rock was most likely in the building materials of the cathedral itself. Ron had also begun to conspire that the Cathedrals construction was a huge cover up for the Ministry’s own construction, but a lecture from Hermione reminded Ron that the muggles were perfectly capable of building something of their own free will before he could get too far into his conspiring. Over the years of construction, however, the methods had grown and changed, and new ideas, technologies and magic arose to take the place of this shaft and made it redundant. These days, Hermione had said, barely anyone even knew it had existed. They certainly didn’t know it could be used as an entry point.

They’d been slowly making their way down it for the past twenty minutes. The air was cold, and the air was stale, and it was enough to make Harry pull his jacket tighter, and wrinkle his nose at the horrible taste in the back of his mouth. When the steps had sunk enough, they came to a floor which was flat and solid and wide, mercifully, even if it was just as cold and old as the steps had been. The walls and the low ceiling were criss-crossed with some black material that looked like metal, but felt like wood to the touch. At Harry’s best guess, they kept the whole place from caving in around them. One wall was made of large, grey-white bricks, a blueish mortar gluing them together. The mortar glowed, dully, barely noticeable in its thick dust covering. It was also the only wall that wasn’t reinforced. Ron nodded to Harry, their faces illuminated in the light of his wand.

“Go for it, Godzilla.”

Harry gave the redhead a smirk, but gave the wall a powerful kick nevertheless, a kick that shook centuries worth of dust from the wall as his boot collided with it. The glowing mortar meant that the wall would reflect any magical attack back with a surprising amount of power, but provided no extra physical support for the wall itself. The wall was thin, and previously strong, but now the bricks were old, and even that one solid kick had caused the entire wall to bulge slightly away from them. There was a distinctive _crack_ on the other side, and Harry looked at Hermione.

“You’re positive it’s a service room on the other side? What kind of services does a place like this need?” Harry asked.

“According to the old records it is,” Hermione told him, her own wand lit up too. Harry didn’t have his wand. He’d left it at Hermione’s house. “And a building this big still requires cleaners - it’s a lot easier with spells, but because of the sheer surface area they still need actual cleaners to work the night shift. Not to mention the potions labs here. Potion stains react badly with magic, as you both well know, and require a bit of elbow grease to get off.”

“Just how old are those records?” Ron asked.

Hermione hesitated. “Eighty-four years old.”

Harry’s head snapped to her. “Almost _ninety years_ old? You don’t think maybe they changed a few things around in that time?”

“Hey, if you can get a hold of more recent records I would _love_ to see you do so. The magical world is very resistant to change, so I’m confident in this. If there is anything other than a supply room on the other side of that wall, then you get to be angry at me, okay?”

Harry rolled his eyes, but nodded his head, and delivered another kick to the wall. Dust fell from the ceiling as well as the wall this time, and Harry realised he must have disturbed a ward with the first kick, as the first kick hadn’t affected anything other than wall itself.

“Not to alarm you,” He said. “But I think that first kick may have taken down a ward. Or disturbed one at the very least.”

Hermione nodded. “It did. It was an illusion ward, made to fool muggles who came down here into thinking the entire place was going to come down on them. It hasn’t worked for a while now.”

“You didn’t tell us we were going to see an illusion of a cave in.”

She shrugged. “I knew the ward was old and obsolete. On the off chance it was still working, it would have given me a laugh to see you both panic.”

Harry scowled. “I don’t like your sense of humour.”

Hermione shot him a grin. “You love it.”

Harry grumbled, but had no comeback as he delivered a third kick to the wall. Brick and mortar crumbled down the now noticeably concave surface, and there was a noise of cracking tile and splintering masonry from the other side.

“Will bringing down a ward not alert the Ministry?” Ron asked, shuffling out of a cloud of dust that descended from the roof.

Hermione shook her head. “It was used for the construction, and was tied to this tunnel. I doubt its hooked up to their Wardstone. I doubt they even had one that long ago.”

Harry kicked the wall again, and his foot went through this time. He yet out a small yelp of shock, and pulled his foot back, dragging two bricks out of the wall and into the room they were in with it. Light spilled into the room in a glorious beam that highlighted the dust dancing in the air. Harry kicked again, and again, the wall falling into the room beyond with increasing ease. The hole grew bigger, and eventually as enough light pooled in, Ron and Hermione let their wands extinguish.

The floor that they were standing on wasn’t floor level with the room they had just broken into. Looking through the Ministry of Magic’s new entrance, Harry noticed it was just above waist height from the next room. He slid down into it, and helped Hermione down as Ron jumped in beside her.

“Told you,” Hermione grinned as Harry helped her down, and Harry couldn’t help but grin back.

The room was relatively large, and seemingly L shaped. They were in the longer line of the L, about halfway up, and Hermione’s intel didn’t seem to be off. There were shelves lined with buckets and sponges and mops and a few pieces of equipment that Harry didn’t recognise. There were lockers on one side of the room, and benches in the centre. The place was cluttered, but empty. Shards of brick and black tile crunched and snapped beneath their feet as they walked to the lockers, Hermione reaching into her bag as she did. Harry and Ron sat on the benches and started taking their shoes off as Hermione started to impossibly pull dark robes out of her side-bag, which was far too small to logically be able to contain them. Harry pulled his coat off and laid it on the bench as he slipped a plain black top on, and the robe on top of that. Ron followed suit, and as they folded their coats, Hermione finished her own changing. Wordlessly, she slipped all of their clothes effortlessly into the impossible bag, and hid the bag beneath her robe. It was completely unnoticeable.

Hermione plucked Harry’s glasses from his face, and made short work of transfiguring their shape into something a bit less recognisable, and slid them back onto his nose.

She raised an eyebrow. “Not bad.”

“You like these ones?”

“They suit you. Have you ever thought about changing the frames?”

Harry shrugged. “I’ve never had the chance to. How permanent is the transfiguration?”

“This one is just temporary, a few hours at most, but if you like them, I could do it permanently when we don’t have Government documents to destroy?”

Harry smiled as her wand waved over his head, and his hair shortened slightly, and lightened. “Sounds good to me.”

Hermione moved on to fixing the parts of Ron that he was doing an ineffectual job at, and Harry slid his new black shoes on, looking at himself in the mirror as he did so.

He’d grown, in the last few months since anybody had seen him. He’d been a respectable 5’7 then, but the man he saw in the mirror was almost six foot. His shoulders had broadened, his arms had thickened, and his waist had slimmed since he’d been at Hogwarts. The early end to the school year had provided him with a few months to try and ready himself physically for the war he and his friends had decided to throw themselves in the middle of. The Dursleys hadn’t minded as long as he stayed out of their way. His eyes flickered up to the jags of the lighting scar on his head, and his fingers trailed over the cracked edges of it. When Hermione applied her make-up, it would practically disappear. The cursed nature of the scar meant that it couldn’t be easily covered by a glamour. However, muggle means, were much more effective. That, combined with his new appearance, his almost blonde hair, the new glasses, and his Ministry-esque clothes, and nobody should look at him twice.

Harry turned to Ron, the taller ginger boy now a brunette, and his sparkling blue eyes now a dull grey. He was fussing as Hermione tried to finish charming the back of his hair, which was still a startling orange. Hermione, dressed in a way that resembled a judge, had straightened her hair before leaving this morning, and had it in a ponytail her usual bushy curls wouldn’t have been able to pull off. Nothing else about her had changed just yet, and Hermione was betting that her ‘muggle-born’ status was going to keep her image anonymous. Her face had matured since it had been spread over the The Daily Prophet, and Harry and Hermione very much doubted anybody remembered three year old gossip. They both agreed that those that cared about such gossip usually forgot it just as quickly as it came about.

Hermione turned to him, and saw him looking at her, her eyes meeting his. She smiled at him in response, a warm one that made her eyes crinkle. Ron rubbed the back of his head, his lips still twitched downwards, and slipped his feet into a pair of black shoes, identical to Harry’s own.

“What floor are we looking for?” Ron asked as he wriggled into the last shoe.

“Thirteenth,” Hermione broke her eyes from Harry’s, and started rummaging in her bag. She pulled out another bag, paradoxically slightly bigger than the last, and stepped close to Harry as she opened it. “I just need to do Harry’s make up, but you should head up there now. It would look a bit suspicious the three of us leaving a supply closet at once.”

“And it won’t for you two?” Ron asked, but was still making his way to the door, walking backwards.

“I’m sure they’ll come to some assumptions,” Hermione said absentmindedly, pulling out a make up brush, and Ron did a double take that made Harry smirk. “But I very much doubt it’ll be the right one.”

“I’m sure,” Ron said dryly. “See you in ten?”

“See you in ten,” Harry confirmed with a lopsided grin, and Ron walked out the door.

Hermione withdrew a small black palette from within the bag, and flicked it open to reveal an array of skin colours and tones. She took a few moments brushing different tones over his hand before she nodded, satisfied, and go to work.

“You didn’t even change your eyes,” Harry said softly as Hermione dusted the brush, and lightly stroked it across his forehead.

“I don’t think I need to,” she muttered, her tongue poking out of her mouth slightly, and the eyes in question squinting slightly. “Brown is the most common eye colour. Almost eighty percent of people have brown eyes. I don’t think that’s what would make someone know that it was actually me.”

“I’d know,” Harry said quietly, his eyes focusing on hers. Her eyes met his again, and she stopped what she was doing for a moment, but then she started again, and she didn’t say anything. “Did you change mine? The mirror was a bit grimy, so I couldn’t see.”

“Yeah, they’re blue now. Just as intense though.” Hermione bit her lip slightly, and then lightly put her hand to his face, pushing it to the side, her other hand continuing to apply the makeup to his scar. “Low amounts of magic shouldn’t be noticeable. People might realise that a little magic is being used, but most people use it to cover surface level stuff, like spots or whatnot, so we shouldn’t stand out because of that.” She leaned back and flashed him another smile. “All done. You’re now scarless Mr. Potter.”

Harry’s lips twitched slightly at that, and she packed the other bag away, vanishing into the beaded bag, which in turn vanished beneath her robes. Harry looked down at his own.

“These robes really do make you pretty shapeless, don’t they?” Harry commented, looking at himself in the mirror again.

“Absolutely,” Hermione responded immediately. “They honestly ruin my body confidence, but we don’t have to wear them for long.” Hermione turned to look at herself in the mirror, and bunched her robe together at the back, pulling it tight around her, and showing just how shapeless it made her, twirling slightly, before dropping it with a sigh. “Let’s get going.”

Harry, who had definitely not been admiring the view in front of him, quickly turned towards the door, and Hermione chuckled to herself lightly, her eyes glowing with mirth, but followed him nevertheless.

Harry stepped through the door, and was met with an empty, black tile corridor. A few moments later, Hermione stepped beside him. They looked at each other, and Harry gave her a fake smile.

“See you in the Office of Tracking Underage Delinquents and their Magic Use,” He said with forced happiness, and Hermione shot him a look.

“You know it’s not called that, right?”

“I know no such thing.”

“I think you know its called the Office for Misuse of Magic,”

“I don’t think I do.”

“Stop moaning.”

“Finally, we get access to the fabled Mystical Hall of Magical Cabinets.”

Hermione glared at him. “I want to hit you.”

“A chance to sort through millions of files and really do some good old-fashioned detective work. This is where things get glamorous. This is where I come alive.”

“You can stop being sarcastic anytime now.”

Harry sighed. “Wouldn’t it be simpler if this was all on a computer somewhere? It’d take up less space, for a start.”

“Computers crash,” said Hermione. “Magic can mess with electronic equipment if you don’t take the right precautions. The magical community is _not_ exactly up to date on technology. Sometimes, hard copy is the way to go.”

“But there’s so much of it,” he whined. “Please tell me that there’s some sort of cool magical search system where the name we seek will suddenly appear to us.”

“Yes,” said Hermione. “It’s called Alphabetical Order. Now go. Get a wand, meet us there.” Hermione shoved him lightly. “Confidence, remember?”

Harry shot her a grin. “When am I not confident?”

Hermione rolled her eyes, but started off down the corridor, and Harry laughed to himself, before walking the other way. Harry walked for a while until he saw another wizard. He shot him a tight-lipped smile, and a curt nod. He received one in return, and then made his way around a corner and into a much less deserted part of the Ministry. The light was almost blinding as he walked into the crowded Atrium, and promptly bumped into another wizard that Harry definitely hadn’t been looking for. Harry smiled, and laughed, and apologised, and lifted his ID out of his robe pocket before moving forward through the crowd. He got to the welcome desk, and rested his elbow on it, sliding it across the desk.

The bored looking wizard sitting behind the desk looked up at him. “Can I help you?”

Harry looked at him. “I have no idea why I’m here at the wand-weighing station with my ID. Take a guess what I want.”

The wizard looked affronted, and Harry was worried for a moment that he’d overdone it, but breathed a sigh of relief when the other wizard nodded. “Err, ye- yes sir. One moment.” He grabbed the ID, taking a look at the photo and the number attached. “Can you please take off your glasses Auror Tenebrae?”

Harry gave a fake eyeroll, but removed the transfigured spectacles and faced the wizard. It wouldn’t be a perfect match, but it would be close enough.

The man didn’t seem suspicious, placing the ID back in front of Harry, and starting to rummage through a few boxes. “You’ve lost some weight, Auror, if you don’t mind me saying. It looks good on you.”

Harry smiled, peeking down at the name plate in front of him. “Cheers, Aaron. You up to much today?”

The newly dubbed ‘Aaron’ smiled. “Not a lot sir. Though I’m meeting with my brother for a drink after work.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, it’s been a while since I’ve seen him. He works for the Ministry in Australia. Grand Minister Kerias just got elected, and she’s letting all of her personal staff have two weeks off.” He slid a wand across the counter. “Acacia, Dragon Heartstring, ten and a half inches.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Between you and me…” He tilted his head and clicked his tongue slightly, and Aaron laughed politely despite having likely heard the joke a mind -numbing amount of times. “Your brother works directly under Kerias?”

“Yes sir,” Aaron nodded, a smile starting to spread. “He’s one of her personal bodyguards. She’s hired extra for while they’re off. I don’t know the first thing about Australian politics, but that makes her alright in my book.”

Harry laughed at that, and picked up the wand, lazily twirling it, feeling a connection to the magic within. It wasn’t strong, but it would do. “Can’t say I’m any different, but she sounds good to me.” He nodded to him. “Well, thank you very much Aaron. I hope you have a good night tonight.”

“Me too, sir,” Aaron nodded, smiling, and getting back to his paper work as Harry walked away.

Harry moved back down the Atrium, towards the lifts, and waited in line. When the soft _ding_ indicated the arrival of one of the lifts, Harry slid the golden gates open, letting a pretty young woman forward first, before stepping in after her. The ride was fast, but comfortable, and soon Harry was stepping out onto the thirteenth floor, where Ron and Hermione were waiting for him. He waggled the wand, and Ron grinned at him.

“We watched you from up here,” Ron said. “I didn’t know you had that in you.”

“Quite the silver tongue,” Hermione agreed, and Harry shot her a cheeky grin.

“He was a nice lad, Aaron. Brother works for the Australian Ministry. Their new Grand Minister gave them all a few weeks off, and they’re going out for drinks tonight.”

“Sounds nice,” Ron said, and Harry nodded. “But I’m not entirely sure why anybody is allowed in and out of the country? Isn’t there a shield?”

Hermione nodded. “There is, but we haven’t used it since the war with Grindelwald. Since our Ministry is refusing to take the situation seriously, they’re downplaying what’s going on to the ICW. International travel is still allowed by magicals unfortunately.”

“So, which way is the Office of Tracking Underage Delinquents and their Magic Use?” Harry said casually and Hermione looked at him, slightly grumpy, though Harry could see the smile threatening to spread over her face.

“Are we, or are we not doing this for you?” Hermione said, and Harry looked down, kicking his feet slightly.

“Yes, sorry,” He said grumpily.

“Then call it by it’s proper name.”

“No.”

“Please?”

Harry sighed. “Which way is the Office for the Misuse of Magic?”

Hermione’s face lit up as she flashed him a beautiful smile. “Thank you. If we follow the corridor down, it’s office 56.”

Ron mockingly spun his hand around and pointed down the corridor, and the three fell into step. They moved casually, but not slowly, talking so as not to stand out for their silence.

“So,” Ron said. “Plans. Plans, plans, plans. Do we have one?”

Hermione frowned. “Why would we come here without a plan? We went over this before we even left. We go into the Department for the Misuse of Magic, You distract the assistant while I ask for access to the records of all new Hogwarts students this year, which should give _Harry_ enough time to find and destroy any documents related to himself, so the Trace breaks and Harry isn’t relying on us to do magic for him.”

“Why do _I_ have to distract the assistant?” Ron asked, and Hermione shrugged.

“Somebody has to, and you’re as good as any of us.”

“I suppose I _am_ the good looking one,” Ron said. “But I meant after this little heist of ours – the whole Horcrux situation?”

Harry allowed his voice to lower slightly. “We need to start hunting the Horcruxes that Dumbledore didn’t get to – the Diary, the Ring, and the Locket are gone now, but that leaves four more for us to find. I won’t lie, it’s going to be tough, but our next step is to head back to Hermione’s and go through Dumbledore’s journals to see if we can find anything. Voldemort will have hidden them well but Dumbledore was nothing if not thorough.”

“You haven’t read them all already?” Ron asked Hermione, who shook her head.

“They’re charmed so that you don’t. It’s… weird. I haven’t seen anything like it, so it might take a while to figure out how to break. I’ll tell you more when we get back.”

Ron looked ready to say something else, but then they reached the navy door marked with intricate gold numbers as ‘58’. Ron walked through the door, followed by Hermione and then Harry at intervals that wouldn’t make anybody inside the office think that they were a group.

The room was big, with high walls that curved into an equally high ceiling, golden chandeliers dangling and illuminating the entire space perfectly. Intricately carved wooden pillars joined the floor and disappeared into the ceiling seamlessly. There were a few rows of desks with a central aisle between them, directly in front of the door, with rows on rows of filing cabinets behind them. Desks continued up the far left of the room, and the right side of the room appeared to end early, turning into an office that a bored looking manager with dull eyes sat inside of.

Ron was already talking to the assistant when Harry entered, and he could see Hermione’s bushy hair being led to the farthest side of the room. Harry kept his head up, and strode forward with confidence. A young girl looked up at him, before turning right back to her desk, and he felt himself smirk slightly. Ron and Hermione had been right – enough confidence, and nobody questioned a thing.

He made his way about halfway up the stacks of filing cabinets, before disappearing down the aisle marked as _Old Families_. He felt a little silly looking for himself down here, but Hermione had assured him that this is where he would be. Happy that nobody could see him behind the filing cabinets, he let his shoulders droop slightly. He found the P’s, and squatted by his last name. He opened the drawer, and stopped slightly at the amount of files inside. He was slightly awestruck at just how much information they seemed to have on him until he opened the file and started reading.

_Potter, James Charlus, was recorded as performing a summoning charm on the thirteenth of July, 1974_ _in Central London at 11:56 am. No other incidents._

_Wand tracked – 11 inches, mahogany, Dragon Heartstring. Ollivander made._

_Trace status – non-active_

_Status – deceased._

Harry felt his eyes widen slightly, and he looked over the drawer again, and he realised that each thin file was a different member of the Potter family. He swallowed thickly, and placed the file back, now noticing the tab marked ‘JAMES CHARLUS’ in all capitals. His eyes moved down the tabs, and he saw his own name, the file glowing a faint, dull red, indicating that the Trace was still active. He pressed the stolen wand into the middle of the drawer, against the metal base.

“ _Incendio,”_ he whispered, and flames spread from his wand and across the base of the drawer, licking at all of the files simultaneously.

He watched as the files burned gently and quietly, his throat feeling suddenly tight as he saw all of the names start to fold and blacken. The slight red Aura around his own file started to flicker slightly, before vanishing completely. That file had been the only one not burning, but that wasn’t the case now. Harry became suddenly aware of his surroundings when smoke started to cloud his vision, and he stood, closing the drawer as he did. He placed his foot against the drawer, and then pulled the handle off. Smoke steamed from the twin holes where the handle had been screwed in, and lazily twisted upwards, but allowed for oxygen to enter the drawer and keep the magical fire burning. Harry stepped up, and walked back down the length of the stack of filing cabinets quickly, stepping into the central aisle just as Ron was walking towards him.

“Hey,” Ron said, walking up to him. “I told her I needed to find somebody who’d gone looking for the wrong file, so just play along when we get back there, okay?”

Harry nodded. “I think the trace has gone. This was easier than I thought.”

Hermione hurried to the two of them, her guide not with her. “Did you destroy your drawer?” Hermione asked urgently, and quietly.

“Yeah.”

“Good. That’s good. Except when they realise, it’ll be a lot easier to put the Trace back on you until the end of the month.” Hermione explained.

“What are you saying?” Ron asked, just as quietly as they walked.

“I’m saying we don’t have much of a chance against Voldemort if we lose a month because we didn’t do this properly.”

Harry frowned. “So we need to destroy more?”

Hermione nodded. “The more that are gone, the more difficult it should be to realise what needs to be replaced. The reparations should take enough time that you’ll be seventeen by the time that they’re done.”

Harry opened his mouth to respond, to ask exactly how they would do that and still get out of the Ministry, but stopped himself as two people dressed in dark, distinctly _not_ Ministry robes approached them, wands in hand. The way they walked, The way they held their wands, themselves, it all screamed one thing - Death Eater.


	3. Chapter 3

**Come and Go**

Realising what was happening just as Ron did, Harry grabbed the distracted Hermione and ducked into one of the aisles, Ron dipping into an adjacent one, just as blasts of multi-coloured spellfire rocketed through where they had just been.

A blue bolt struck the corner of a filing cabinet, and the metal was blasted clean off, the jagged cuts glowing orange with heat. The Ministry officials at the front of the room realised what was going on, and within seconds, the previously quiet room was alive with jets of light, and the sizzle of magic bolts flying back and forth. There were shouts, and Harry peeked out as a continuous purple stream burrowed through the head of the girl who had looked up at him before, and he felt slightly sick.

“This is our chance,” Hermione hissed from right next to him, and before he had a chance to ask what she meant, she raised her wand, and with a murmur there was a blast like a cannon, and the filing cabinets started to drop. They knocked against each other like dominos. Realising what was going on from the other side of the aisle, Ron mimicked Hermione’s actions. Harry stood.

“ _Impedimenta!”_ He roared, the spell blasting into the side of one of the Death Eaters, causing him to flip through the air, out of the aisle and into the rows of filing cabinets.

The other Death Eater whirled, and Harry had a chance to spot more of them at the front of the room before he ducked under a green light. There was an explosion of metal behind him, and then a sharp pain in his shoulder as a shard of metal dug into him. He hissed in pain, and Hermione stood. He didn’t hear the spell she used, nor did he see it directly, but saw the entire room tinge purple with the brightness of it, and then Hermione was grabbing him, and they moved across the aisle, and joined Ron, who was firing spells from around the corner of the stacks. Papers flew into the air, fluttering down like snow as there were shouts, people cursing and people casting, and people dropping.

“I think I saw about thirty of them,” Hermione said, opening a drawer and setting fire to the contents as she did. She kept her wand trained on the files, and they clumped together into a solid ball. She stood, and flicked the ball at one of the Death Eaters, and heard a slight shriek in reward.

“Thirty?” Ron asked incredulously, and Hermione nodded.

“Thereabouts. They don’t know exactly where we are now though, so we have a few moments.”

Harry peeked out. The first two Death Eaters, those not wearing masks, lay slumped in the aisle. Unconscious or dead, he didn’t know, but he did know that there _were_ about thirty masked Death Eaters at the front of the room. Bodies were slumped over desks, and the office was ablaze, but there was still fighting, so not everybody was dead in the apparent surprise attack.

“How stupid are they?” Harry hissed. “This is the _Ministry of Magic,_ how do they expect to survive this?”

As if on cue, the door burst open and Aurors spilled through, the fighting renewed. Harry smirked, and stood to fire, and noticed he was almost face to face with a masked figure. Harry shrieked in surprise, and drove a high kick into his head. The force of the kick cracked his mask, and sent him sprawling.

Now in the aisle, Harry rolled to the side instinctually, and the green light of the killing curse erupted against the floor, splinters of shredded wood flying upwards. Harry kicked the Death Eaters leg out from under him, and they rolled on the floor, throwing elbows and punches and kicks. Harry straddled him, and smashed his fist into the mask. He grunted in pain, as the mask was harder than it seemed. More Death Eaters dropped around him, and Harry briefly wondered where the hell the Aurors were when he saw almost everyone in the room was occupied. He received a kick to the stomach and stumbled back against one of the stacks. He reached for his own wand, but wasn’t quick enough, and threw himself to the side to avoid a wave of bubbly yellow liquid that jumped from her wand. Harry could see that it was a her now, through her broken mask. Her eyes were alight with hatred, and her lips had curled into a snarl.

The inside of Harry’s mouth tasted of blood, and the Death Eater came in again, close, jabbing with her wand. Ignoring the pain from the cut in his back, he smashed his elbow into her face, then grabbed her wrist with both hands and twisted.

She rammed her shoulder into him. They crashed back against one of the wooden pillars and she got her hip against him and flipped him to the floor. She was more experienced, and she was strong, and she was fast. Refusing to let go of the hand with the wand, he kicked at her leg and it buckled. He spun on his back and jammed his foot into her other leg. She collapsed on top of him, and he rose his knee to meet her face.

The wand clattered to the ground and he rolled out from under her, kicking it out of her reach. She spat teeth and blood and moved into a kick, but Harry was moving again. He got a hand on her wand just as she jumped onto his back, and he whirled, gripping her arms and throwing her over his shoulder and into the ground in front of him. He thought, and flames leapt from the wand that burned fiercely into the Death Eaters side. She screamed and thrashed and dived away from him, trying to smother the flames on her robes. She scrambled up and fled, down a row of filing cabinets.

Hermione was on her feet, firing spell after spell, a continuous line of explosions separating the Death Eaters and Aurors battling from them.

“This could work to our advantage,” Hermione shouted over the deafening _booms_ that stung the air. Ron nodded his agreement, and turned.

“ _Confringo!”_ he shouted, and explosions started to rock the filing cabinets. There were screams and squeals of protesting metal, and files and parchment burst through the air, ablaze. He fired, and fired, and fired, and more explosions rocked the room, and more cabinets tore apart.

Harry remained hunkered down, doing his level breath to regain his breath. The sweat on his forehead was unbearable, but he didn’t dare wipe it away lest the makeup come off too. Hermione dropped next to him, her arm clutching his upper arm.

“Why do you think they’re here?” She whispered, as Harry fired a bright light blue bolt down the aisle, striking a Death Eater in the back, and making him scream, and topple over. He turned back.

“I’m not sure,” Harry admitted. “What are the chances of there being a raid on the Ministry while we’re here? And why would they bother coming to the Office for the Misuse of Magic?”

Hermione’s smile was beautiful and brilliant. “You gave it it’s proper name.”

Harry gave her a quizzical look. “Hermione? Focus.”

She scowled, and Harry sniggered. “Low. The chances are low. But that doesn’t mean they’re just here. There aren’t a whole lot of Aurors helping us right now, which means they’re probably busy elsewhere. I think this is a Ministry wide thing, and we just have horrible timing.”

“No difference there then,” Harry smirked, and Hermione responded with a musical laugh.

Ron dropped next to them, and they waited a few seconds. Silence reigned, and flames licked at the now charred wooden pillars. Harry poked his head out, and saw Aurors sweeping the room, wands out. The Death Eaters were strewn about the room. He noticed some of them in magic-dampening handcuffs, and some of them lying very, very still.

“Follow my lead,” Ron said quietly, tugging Hermione’s hand, who in turn poked Harry’s shoulder. Ron stood up, his hands in the air, and did his best to look panicked. “Aurors! Thank God! What’s going on in here?”

One of the Aurors, a man with tightly cropped grey hair trained his wand on him, but relaxed when he saw Ministry uniforms, and lack of masks.

“Rooms clear. You-Know-Who seems to be leading a raid on the Ministry personally. The foyer is in tatters, so don’t go out that way. Whatever they’re here for seems to be in the Repository, but if you head down the corridor towards the Offices of Financial Support, there should be floos waiting. They haven’t been shut down yet to my knowledge. If they have, go and hide in the toilets. I see no reason for Death Eaters to raid those.”

“Thank you, sir,” Hermione said, her voice quivering convincingly.

The Auror gestured, and a younger Auror led them to the door. They poked through, and dropped a Death Eater almost instantly, but found the corridor to be clear otherwise. The Auror nodded at them, and went back into the room.

“I guess that answers that question,” Harry said quietly, heading in the opposite direction to the floos, and towards the way they came.

“Where are we going?” Hermione asked. “The floo is that way?”

“Yeah,” Harry nodded. “But so are Aurors who will be most likely checking ID’s so Death Eaters don’t escape. We need to leave the way we came in.”

Hermione looked at him, surprised, but didn’t object.

“What’s the Repository?” Ron asked as they made a bolt for the elevators. They hid behind a pillar, and Harry quickly jumped out, stunning the Death Eater waiting by the golden doors before he had a chance to shout out.

“It’s where they keep all the artefacts,” Hermione said, leading them past the elevators and through to the stairs. “Some of the rarest and most unusual in existence. I wonder what Voldemort wants?”

“It’s probably important,” Ron agreed. “But it’s something we can figure out later. We do not want to get found here.”

“Ron’s right,” Harry said, seeing Hermione about to start arguing. “Let’s get out of here, and regroup.”

They opened the door and started descending, wands out and ready at a moments notice. Thankfully, the Death Eaters seemed to have already passed through this area. There were scorch marks on the walls, and blasted out gouges of concrete and tile. They exited the stairs, close to the Atrium, but not in it, and found themselves traversing familiar tiled corridors. This area had been the site of a battle, that much was obvious. They moved out of the corridors, Harry using his foot to open the door behind him, and slipped into a dark room.

The flickering lights of the trashed office threw deep shadows from dark places, and Harry stepped through it all with one hand wrapped tightly around the stolen wand. Rows of shelves lay toppled against each other in a domino-sprawl of scattered parchment and broken quills. He caught the scent of a small ocean of spilled ink and glanced to his right in time to catch a flash of dark robes. Then they were alone again in this half-collapsed maze, the only sound the gentle hum from the automated letter writing quills. He wasn’t fully sure where they were. He glanced over at Hermione. She probably knew _exactly_ where they were.

He edged into the darkness and out again into the light. Slow steps and quiet ones and once more the darkness swallowed him in its cold hunger. The maze opened before him, and the three of them wordlessly split up. There was a high chance there was a Death Eater in here, and talking would only attract attention.

Wearing a scowl as dark as his hair, he stepped out from cover and advanced slowly. He saw the dark robed figure crouching by a flipped desk. He palmed his wand, fiddling slightly, but stopped so that he didn’t make a noise. The floor was littered with office debris. He was halfway there, and the crouching figure still hadn’t looked up.

The closer he got, the louder his pulse sounded in his head. He felt sure they were going to hear his heartbeat. If not his heartbeat then at the very least his ridiculously loud breathing. When had he started breathing so loud? Had he always breathed this loud? He would have thought someone might have mentioned it.

He didn’t want to curse, just in case they weren’t an enemy, and were instead a frightened Ministry worker. Three more steps and he reached out, wand at the ready.

The man’s head snapped towards him, and they stared at each other.

“Um… This is a dream?” he tried, and a wave of energy threw him back.

He went tumbling, realised in some dim part of his mind that his hands were empty, and when he came to a stop he looked up and the man was standing there, holding Harry’s liberated wand.

“I’ve seen this in books,” the man said. He was American. “This attack I mean. How many times have Ministries and Sanctuaries around the world been attacked by groups like the Death Eaters? I know where to hide, and what to do in these situations. I know they’d send in a few plainclothes Death Eaters too.” He pointed the wand at Harry as he stood, then frowned. “It doesn’t work.”

“Must be broken,” said Harry. “Could I have it back?”

He held out his hand, and the man looked at him a moment longer before his eyes widened. “You’re him.”

“Him?” he asked, though he was pretty certain he knew the answer.

He dropped Harry’s wand, and raised his own, the tip glowing. “Harry Potter. My god, not who I thought _I’d_ be meeting today. My name’s Ferrente Rhadaman. I’m not a Death Eater.”

Harry nodded slowly. “Then why do you have a wand pointed at me?”

“You killed my friends,” Rhadaman said slowly, after a few moments of quiet. “You broke in here a few years ago, and my friends died when the Death Eaters came after you. They never would have been here if it wasn't for you. You’re a fugitive. I should… I should kill you.”

“I didn’t, and you know it,” Harry said, allowing his hands to come up in surrender. “I’m working with the Ministry now. Fudge is out, right? You remember that? Amelia Bones is in charge, and we’re all back on the same side. Ferrente, you don’t want to do something you’ll regret. You’re not thinking clearly right now.”

“I’m thinking very clearly. I wouldn't even be caught. Killing you may not bring my friends back, but it’ll sure as hell make me smile.”

“Now that,” Ron Weasley said, pressing the tip of his wand to Rhadaman’s temple as he stepped up beside him, “is just disturbingly unhealthy.”

Rhadaman froze, his eyes wide. Ron stood there in all of his usual ginger glory, the glamour having collapsed at some point when they were separated. The wand clattered to the floor, and Hermione stepped in, scooping both wands up. She stepped up beside Harry and handed both to him. He glanced at her and smiled.

“Now, you’re an Unspeakable aren’t you? I know those dark blue robes of yours. You have handcuffs, don’t you? Put them on.”

Rhadaman hesitated, but then slowly reached into his pocket and pulled out a pair of shackles, engraved with sigils and runes. When they locked into place around his wrists, Ron allowed his wand to drop, and shoved him forward, into a desk, and then smirked at Harry. “You owe me one, Potter.”

Harry laughed at that. “After all the times I’ve saved you? I don’t think so.”

The three moved to the other side of the office at Hermione’s direction – true to Harry’s beliefs, she knew exactly where they were – and slipped out of an identical door at the opposite end of the office.

Gradually, the corridors grew less and less damaged, and the three began to relax more and more. Harry’s glamour had vanished too, the both of them clearly having expired at some point. The corridors grew less damaged still, and suddenly Harry knew where they were, and they made their way into the supply room they had entered the Ministry through. These corridors and this room were seemingly untouched besides their own forced entry point. Harry helped Hermione up through the hole, and Ron interlocked his fingers, boosting Harry up. Harry lay flat, and gripped Ron’s forearm, pulling him into the dusty old room.

“Blimey,” Ron coughed the dust out of his lungs, waving his hand in front of his mouth. “Glad we missed most of that action. I hope dad and Percy got out okay.”

“I’m sure they did,” Hermione assured him, waving her wand in a delicate figure of eight. The broken wall fragments started to rise into the air and slot back into place. Of course they had no idea if that was the case, but there was no use in worrying right now.

The three looked at each other, and let out a collective sigh of relief. Harry now had free use with his own wand, the brother of Voldemort's, and their hunt for Horcruxes began in earnest now. They had a few more loose ends to tie up, but for the most part, they were ready to go. Harry ushered the other two back up the passage, the trio much quieter than when they had originally descended. Harry stowed the stolen wand in his pocket as he and Hermione followed Ron's own lit wand. After what felt like an agonisingly long climb, They stepped out of the stone archway that didn't exist to muggle eyes and back onto ground level. There was a bit of urban trickery required to leave the non-euclidean back alley that the arch was situated in, but when the three of them we're back out on the street it was as though where they had just come from didn't exist at all. Harry allowed his eyes to quickly skim over London. It was a rainy day, and apart from the slightly disgruntled and hurried Londoners, a quiet one too. Absolutely no sign of the bloodbath that was happening just below the surface. Harry looked at Ron, and then to Hermione as she hailed a taxi. That had been far too close.


	4. Wolves at The Door

**Wolves At The Door**

Hermione Granger lived in a big house, on an expensive looking street. It was two stories high, though it had a few windows in the roof indicating a third. A silver S-Class Mercedes sat in the driveway, headlights pointed at a double-garage door. The front garden was neatly kept, but Harry's attention was diverted from it before he could pay too much attention as the front door opened.

The man standing there wasn't hugely tall, but he wasn't short either. His greying dark hair was neatly kept, and framed sky blue eyes that gave Fleur Delacour a run for her money. He smiled, a perfect set of teeth, and ushered them into the house. Harry shook his hand and flashed him an easy smile in return, while Ron stammered and stuttered his way past him.

Hermione led them through to the kitchen, and Hermione's mum gave him a smile that matched her husbands.

"Hello Harry," She said, stepping around the kitchen counter to wrap him in a hug. "It's so lovely to finally meet you."

"Likewise, Mrs. Granger," Harry said, returning the hug as Ron and Mr. Granger followed them into the kitchen.

"Please, call me Charlotte," she said, pulling away. She was almost a carbon copy of her daughter, adding a few more years. Her hair was slightly sleeker than Hermione's, but her brown eyes were identical. "This is Daniel."

Hermione's dad glared slightly. "I told Ron he should call me Mr Granger. I hadn't got to Harry yet."

"Don't mind him, boys. You can call him Dan."

"Stop undermining my authority."

"Sorry, dear. You say something now."

"Thank you." He said grumpily, though a trace of a smile tugged at his lips. "Joking aside, Charlotte's right – call me Dan. Or Daniel. We closed on the house yesterday, so we should be moving next week."

Charlotte nodded, and Hermione hesitated slightly as she reached to fill a glass. "Is that as soon as you can go?"

"We have to close our practice, tell our patients, refund them, give them alternatives – it's not easy Hermione." Dan said, scratching the back of his head.

Hermione filled the glass and stepped back, taking a sip. "Dad, this is building faster than we thought. Voldemort's been building his forces up all over Europe, and he's sent a few sects of Death Eaters into America, if Mundungus Fletcher is to be believed. That's not mentioning the raid he led on the Ministry today."

Her mother looked horrified, but Harry cut in smoothly. "This isn't the first time he's attacked the Ministry – from what we saw, he was looking for something rather than trying to destroy the place."

Dan flicked the kettle on, and everyone looked at him.

"What?" He asked, the sudden attention freaking him out a bit. "So it wasn't a bloodbath?"

"Oh no, it was." Ron told him. "They destroyed a lot of stuff, and killed a lot of people, but we were talking on the way over, and we think it was just a distraction from what he was there to steal. The Ministry is huge, and ultimately the Death Eaters are just a terrorist group. They could attack full force and they wouldn't win. Unfortunately, since they know that, this was undoubtedly a targeted attack with a lot of distraction, as I said. That means it could be a while until we find out what he actually wanted, or if he even got it."

"Which isn't our main problem right now," Hermione pointed out, sipping her water gently. "We can find that out from the Order when they figure it out. None of the stuff in the Repository had any intrinsic value – not really. We can't worry about that now."

"Yeah," Harry agreed. "We need to focus on finding the other Horcruxes, and a way to destroy them. Unfortunately, if we aren't careful, that will attract a lot of the wrong sort of attention."

"Which is why I think you should both move as soon as possible," Hermione finished. "And I mean soon. It would be best if you were gone by the end of the day, in all honesty. So much went wrong that we're basically praying that there was too much going on at the Ministry today for us to have been noticed."

Charlotte and Daniel looked at each other, communicating silently. Her mum tilted her head slightly for a moment before speaking up.

"No," Hermione's mum said. "This is… insane. I know you've given us a hundred reasons as to why you have to stay, Hermione, but I've decided that I'm not really sure I care what you say, or how eloquently you're saying it. This has to end here."

Hermione was already shaking her head, and Harry suddenly felt very self conscious, like he shouldn't be here to witness this. Ron was finding his shoes very interesting.

"Mum, no," said Hermione.

"Hermione baby, you can't continue with this… madness. You'll get yourself killed."

"Doing this is just like being a policewoman or a soldier," Hermione argued.

"And we wouldn't want you to do those things, either."

Charlotte turned to look at Harry and Ron. Ron remained wilfully oblivious, but Harry met her gaze. Her kind eyes were full of mistrust, and not for the first time he really wished they'd been meeting under better circumstances.

"I don't know you nearly as well as I wish I did," Charlotte began, echoing his thoughts. "But from what I know of you, you can't be happy with Hermione putting herself in danger like this? You can't want to put her in that position."

Harry took a few seconds before answering. "I don't," he said eventually. "But she's my friend, and she has been for years. I don't get to decide that for her. If I did, I'd be doing this alone. Your daughter is very stubborn when she wants to be."

She looked back at Hermione who had an indecipherable look in her eyes. "Well, that decides it, doesn't it? This is his crusade Hermione. From what you've told us, and what we can decipher, this is his mission. If he doesn't want you there, then you can't continue to be his partner through it. I don't want you killed."

Her voice cracked slightly, and all of a sudden Hermione looked ready to start crying too.

"I'll make the decision," Hermione managed. "But until then, I'm not stopping."

Charlotte was shaking her head again. "We haven't agreed that," she said. "We'll need to think about this. Your dad and I will have to talk about it ourselves, and once we-"

"Mum," Hermione said, "no. You don't get to make this decision. I love you, but this has nothing to do with you. I'm the only one who gets to decide."

"Dan, feel free to contribute. Don't you dare make me the bad guy in this."

Hermione's dad was silent for a moment longer, and Harry could tell he was sorting his thoughts into some kind of order in his head. When he was ready, he spoke. "I think it's wonderful."

Ron looked up.

"You can't be serious," Hermione's mum said.

"I don't want our daughter risking her life anymore than you do, Charlotte. But that's what she does. She has every year at Hogwarts. She's risking her life for others. It's… inspiring. This isn't your fault, or Harry's, or Hermione's. There's nothing wrong with what she's doing. She's a hero. Our job is to support her."

"I can't support our daughter living a life like this. You can't expect me to. Jesus, Dan, she's going to get herself killed!"

"She's trying to save all of us."

"Let someone else do it!" Hermione's mum shouted. "There are plenty of people with magic powers running around this place! Let them handle it!"

"It doesn't work that way, and you know it."

Hermione's mum was shaking now. "If something happens to her, Dan, if she gets hurt, if she… If our daughter dies, I will never forgive you."

Her hands clasped over her mouth, and she walked out. Hermione's dad watched her go.

"Do your best not to die, sweetie," he said quietly. "She's the only one who knows how to work the dishwasher." Then he followed after her.

* * *

It was only a few hours later that Charlotte and Daniel Granger left their house, and a few hours after that when they left the country. Though the previous conversation had been frosty, none of the Grangers had left each other on bad terms. Ron and Harry had allowed Hermione and her family some space for a proper goodbye, and were waiting for her in their dining room. Ron sat at the head of the table and Harry on the side right next to him, talking lowly when Hermione entered the room.

Her cheek bulged slightly where she was poking it with her tongue, and her arms were folded as the door closed behind her. Her eyes looked up, and Ron and Harry both looked at her. The two boys lulled into silence.

They were in that room together for a while, Harry and Ron just sitting while Hermione stood there with her arms folded. The sun streamed through the gap in the heavy grey curtains, and bounced through the crystal chandelier, a narrow shaft of light neatly slicing across Hermione's face. Harry found himself intensely focused on that beam until Hermione shook herself and unfolded her arms.

"Right," She said in a brittle voice, clapping her hands, snapping all three of them out of their trance. "I'll go get the journals and stuff from upstairs and bring them down so we can go over them together?"

"Have we eaten today?" Ron asked, and Harry rolled his eyes. "No, seriously, have we? I'm not just being greedy here, we can't afford to not be taking care of ourselves right now. I'm not sure how much food you have in the house but at some point or another we need to stock up. We don't know how long we're staying here."

"It's a good point," Harry grudgingly agreed. "Plus, I think it would be best if we all had something independent to focus on right now. You have Dumbledore's journals that, lets face it, only you really stand a chance at dispelling – Ron could look into food and sort stuff into what needs to be eaten first. I can look into warding the house. We've had a stressful day, you more so than either of us, and I think maybe some time alone with our thoughts will do us good. Lets talk again in a few hours and see where we're at?"

Hermione chewed on her bottom lip slightly but nodded nevertheless. That was how their evening got started. Ron moved first, embracing Hermione with one arm and opening the door behind her with the other, sliding into the kitchen as Harry stood up. He caught the door before it clicked shut, giving Hermione a small smile.

"You'll see them again you know," Harry said softly, pulling his friend in close. "Soon, even. I highly doubt all the horcruxes are in one country, and I see no reason why our search wouldn't take us to Australia."

"That's a stretch," Hermione mumbled into his shoulder.

"Yeah, I know," Harry admitted giving her an extra squeeze. "But you never know. And either way, I promise you today will not be the last time you saw your parents."

Hermione looked up at him, and Harry kissed her forehead.

"I think I have some warding books upstairs that you should take a look at," Hermione said, the ghost of a smile dancing over her lips.

"I'll do that."

* * *

Harry had spent the better half of the evening in the Granger front yard revelling in his newfound ability to cast magic freely. His tongue poked out slightly as he concentrated on his ward casting. Though he knew next to nothing about the subject, wards were a hell of a lot easier to put up than they were to take down. That being said, wards got more complicated as you added more and more, and you needed something to tie them too. Harry had chosen a family photo of the Grangers to be the Wardstone.

Hermione had described Wardstones as a type of lightning rod for magic, and the power of the wards were the flux capacitor. The static electricity in the air was the magic being formed into the ward patterns – actual visible white nets and symbols painted in the air that surrounded the structure until the ward had been cast and they faded out of sight. To solidify into actual wards, the magic needed to ground, or they would simply fall apart after a few minutes. The Wardstone was the lightning rod at the top of the clocktower, and it channeled the magic into itself. However if it didn't recycle that magic around itself in a power cycle, what Hermione described as the flux capacitor of the DeLorean, then the wards would be incredibly weak. A Wardstone needed to be 'activated' with a certain spell to be able to cycle this magic, or else the magic would simply leak out into the air ambiently. The magic was the storm; the Wardstone the lightning rod, the Power Cycle the flux capacitor, and the ward itself was the Time Travel – the end result.

He'd only been slightly confused.

Usually a mundane object would be fine as a Wardstone, but eventually the wards would fade as the object simply didn't have the properties to efficiently cycle the magic, no matter what spell had been cast on it. Special Wardstones were created for the express purpose of efficiently looping magic to an enormous degree, and many were built into the foundations of magical houses. As the houses got older and accumulated more ambient magic, it became an almost infinite source, having to only be strengthened every few hundred years, if ever. The stronger the loop, the stronger the magic, the stronger the wards – and that was why older buildings like Hogwarts and some of the older family Manors tended to have the strongest protections.

As the Granger residence was not a magical castle, and to Harry's knowledge was only ten or so years old, Harry had gone for the middle ground. They didn't know how long they were here, so a mundane object wouldn't fit their needs. None of the three could enter anywhere in the magical world right now with how hunted they were, so the more expensive, permanent Wardstones were out of the question. The photograph however, was a magical photograph, and as such it would hold and loop the magic much better than a normal photograph would. This meant it could easily last a year or so as a temporary Wardstone without a need to recast.

The first ward he'd thrown up had been a muggle-repelling one – It wouldn't do to have everybody in the area seeing magic being performed on the street. This way, the bright and coloured domes that momentarily faded in and out of existence over the entire structure were not going to have people wondering if they were going crazy or not.

He was really having to concentrate on a way to weave the wards into each other and into the photograph, but with each protection added, it became harder and harder to do. He was starting to get into the rhythm of it, but he'd only put up five or so protections. He had no idea how houses could have tens of them tied to one Wardstone. Eventually, sweating, he decided he was done for the day.

They were being overly cautious – Hermione's family, being muggles, were not registered in any magical system, and as Hermione had been a minor until almost a year ago, the muggleborn witch had been listed as a child of Hogwarts. All children who came from non-magical families that studied at the castle were, at least until they left. Seeing as how they hadn't _technically_ left yet, though they had no intention to return, the information of Hermione's address was completely theirs.

Harry came into the house to find Ron had finished sorting through the food just a few minutes ago, and he had done a surprisingly good job. He'd set meals aside for the next few days, and though they weren't the epitome of balanced meals, they were not entirely unhealthy from the ingredients he could see piled together.

"I've taken care of the majority of it," He said with a grin, proudly showing the cupboards and fridge completely organised by meal, by day. "Though we'd probably benefit from a food shop later on, Mum taught me enough preservation spells to mix in with some of the longer lasting stuff like the tins and pasta and whatnot, that we don't have to worry about the food going bad – just running out."

Harry found his friends grin and excitement to be infectious, and though it seemed to just be something simple, it had taken Ron hours to do and Harry honestly wasn't certain he could have done as good a job. The redhead was ecstatic, and so Harry asked him about it.

"I've been living in that house for almost 18 years now," Ron explained, seemingly starting on their dinner. "and I love it. I love my family, and it'll always be my home. But I can't live there forever, and the idea of moving out, getting to live with my mates and have that little bit of freedom? It's shitty circumstances, but I'm just glad I can have some independence. It's really hard to get some of that in the Burrow, you know?"

Though he didn't live there, Harry had spent enough time there that yes, he did know. "What are you making?" Harry asked, leaning on the counter beside his friend, grateful to take some weight off his legs. "Merlin, I had no idea how tiring putting wards up was going to be." He yawned.

"Its like working any other muscle when you do lots of magic," Ron said absentmindedly, looking down at a crumpled note in his hand. "You get tired. And honestly? No idea. I asked for a few recipes from my mum when I told her we were leaving, but I can't read her writing, so I'm just going to make it up as I go along."

"Whoopee," Harry said, only slightly sarcastically, grinning at the glare he got in return. Ron and Hermione's parents had been the only ones who knew of their plan to break Harry out and hunt the Horcruxes. Admittedly, they didn't know about the Horcruxes themselves, but they knew about the prophecy and that pretty much gave them a ticket to do what they wanted. The Order hadn't viewed them as children since the battle in the department of mysteries, and the Trio had enjoyed the respect they'd been treated with since. The order knew Dumbledore had given them a mission, though they had no idea that they were going to be ditching this last year of school to achieve it.

"I'll go get Hermione if you're getting started on that, Lord knows she'll have worked herself into a frenzy." Harry said, pushing himself fully back to his feet once more. He embraced Ron from behind and put on a slightly more shrill voice. "You're so independent and manly Ron, making your own dinner, and even making mine too? So caring…"

"Get off," Ron laughed. "And go get a shower before talking to her. You'll hardly be leaving a good impression smelling like that."

"She's seen us in much worse states," Harry said, and Ron gave him a look. "Yeah, I was going to get one anyway you know.

"Sure you were mate."

Harry ignored that last part and gave Ron a joking slap on the bum that the redhead yelped at, sending Harry into peels of laughter. Harry and Hermione's friendship had very clearly evolved out of the 'just friends' section in the latter half of their sixth year, and though all three of them knew, they simply never acknowledged it besides moments like these. In all honesty? Harry had a lot of mental and emotional baggage to unpack with that, and deep insecurities he wanted to get over or fix before going any further than the perfect friendship they shared – she deserved the best, and in his mind, that wasn't him yet.

Yet.

* * *

Kingsley Shacklebolt strode into the room at the heart of the DMLE, still reeling from that mornings events. A sixth of the Auror corps had gone in the space of forty minutes, and the path from the atrium to the Repository was a blistered and shredded mess of bodies, rubble and the stink of discharged magic in the air. Hestia Jones had been captured – a member of the Ministry and the Order of the Phoenix left her a vulnerable target, and one that Voldemort had seized with both hands.

However right now he was in Deputy-Minister mode, not Order of the Phoenix mode. Amelia Bones was out of the country, placating the ICW by request of the Wizengamot and to her own chagrin. The Wizengamot was adamant the country could deal with the threat on it's own. He had been called to Thurid Andersens office – the current Director of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement – to try and determine what had been stolen from the Repository. The Curator of the Repository sat before Andersen, shaking slightly. The desk was solid and wooden, and beside Andersen stood Nymphadora Tonks and Solomon Harris, two of the departments best Aurors when it came to interrogation.

"And what about Johnathon Bronte?" The Curator was asking as Kingsley walked in. "How is he going to be punished for such a blatant terrorist attack? He was holding me hostage, questioning me and threatening to kill me!"

"Bronte is already in a cell downstairs," Andersen was saying, impatience clipping at his slightly accented words. "His fate will be decided by the Wizengamot when we aren't running around like headless chickens."

"You be sure to throw the book at him, you hear me? I feel violated Director. Violated."

"I'll throw this table at you if you don't tell me what the Death Eaters took."

The Curator, Allan Marr blinked. "They took the Annihilation Mechanism" he said dully.

"What?"

"Voldemort took the Annihilation Mechanism. We're doing a visual search now, but it appears to be the only item missing."

"What's the Annihilation Mechanism?" Tonks asked.

"Essentially it's a bomb," Andersen said. "It obliterates everything within it's radius, wipes it all out. These days it would be called a Weapon of Mass Destruction."

"It was only ever used once," Harris said. "Back in, when was it, 1498? A town outside of Naples. Every living thing, every building, tree and stone, was obliterated. You should have learned about it in History at school."

Tonks frowned. "Why is there a bomb in the Repository?"

"That's a very good question."

"It's been made safe," Kingsley put in, drawing attention to himself for the first time since he entered the room. "It can't be activated. It was kept here because it's the only one of it's kind. The Mechanism is useless to Voldemort."

"You're sure about that?" Andersen asked, turning his baby blue eyes to Kingsleys own umber irises.

"Positive. It's a paperweight now."

"That may be so, but there's a reason Voldemort went after it."

"Then get it back," Kingsley said. "You will have access to every resource we have for the duration of the investigation. We've just witnessed a massacre and we need to make those responsible pay."

"You seek revenge," said Andersen.

"I seek retribution."

Andersen looked at him and nodded. Kingsley turned and walked out of the office and down the identical corridors to his own. He had a few firecalls to make.

* * *

Freshly showered, Harry found Hermione sat cross legged on her bed, three leather bound books full of old, yellowing parchment almost black with ink scribbles spread around her. A newer, less battered red Harper Collins book lay open, with almost a page of neat, slanted writing as the young witch waved her wand and muttered incoherently over the older books. Every now and again she would drop her wand to pick up a Parker pen and jot something down, before picking the wand back up and trying something else.

"Hey Hermione," Harry said, joining her on the bed and pulling the red book towards him. "Ron's making some dinner. You found anything interesting so far?"

"Interesting, yeah. Though it's nothing you're going to like," Hermione said, running her hand through her bushy curls. She inhaled and blew her cheeks out as she released the breath. "Dumbledore didn't destroy the ring."

Harry looked up, incredulous. "He didn't?"

"He didn't." Hermione confirmed. "He's written it all down here. I feel bad going through his journals though, more so than I thought I would. I think we forget that Dumbledore was an actual person. He talks a lot about his flaws and emotions and the way he sees the world - I feel really uncomfortable reading this if I'm being honest."

"He was your hero," Harry said, reaching out and taking hold of her hand. "Of course you feel uncomfortable when you're faced with a reality like that."

"I guess it's just not something you think about," Hermione said, smiling gently as she squeezed his hand. "Anyway, I'll go into detail downstairs about the important things I've found. How did you find the wards? I felt them going up."

"It was okay," Harry said, standing up as Hermione shuffled off the bed. "It took me a little while to figure out how to tie them all down, but I think I've managed it. I think they'll benefit from you looking them over, but overall, they're okay."

They walked across the room and into the hallway, and then down the stairs. Harry couldn't help but appreciate the difference between the copy-and-paste houses of Privet drive to Hermione's much larger home, even in subtle differences such as the staircase. Sure, it wasn't any wider, but there was a small curve at the top and the banisters design was just different. All of this was very ordinary, but to Harry? He privately found it very cool. Ron saw them from the kitchen as they descended the stairs and waved slightly when they stepped into the room.

"What have you been up to while Harry and I have been slaving away?" Ron asked dramatically, wiping his hands on a tea towel as the three of them moved into the Dining Room. There were three plates of beans on toast on the table.

"Looking at Dumbledore's journals," Hermione said. "I'll get straight to the bad news – Dumbledore didn't destroy the ring."

Ron groaned slightly, closing his eyes as he slumped into his chair. "You're kidding me. So we still have another five horcruxes to go?"

"It seems so," Harry said.

"That's not all," Hermione said, dropping the red book on the table. She opened it up and pointed to a neatly sketched image of a line, within a circle, within a triangle. "This pops up all over his journals, and in one page he called it the mark of the Hallows. I don't suppose that means anything to either of you?"

"As in the Deathly Hallows?" Ron frowned, pulling the book across the table to get a better look. "Yeah that's the Deathly Hallows symbol. I wonder what he was cracking on about?"

Hermione dropped into the chair beside him and picked up a fork. "You know what the Hallows are? I couldn't find any information anywhere on it."

"Sure I do, it's a kid's story. About the Brothers and their deal with death? You've never heard it?"

"I haven't," Harry said.

"Neither have I," Hermione admitted. "Is that a magical story?"

"Yeah, it is." Ron said. "Kind of childish, but you joined the magical world at eleven right? I'm pretty sure it was in the Hogwarts library. It's not like its for eight year olds or something."

Hermione looked at Harry, and Harry shrugged.

"Anyway, the story goes that three brothers discover a river they can't cross. But they're wizards, so together they conjure a bridge so they can get over it easily. When they start crossing the bridge though, the spirit of Death appears, angry that he didn't get their souls. But, Death is sneaky, so-"

"This is a kids story?" Harry interrupted, finally joining his friends in sitting down and starting to eat.

"I told you, it's hardly a bedtime story." Ron said, starting on his own food. "Anyway, as I was saying – Death is sneaky and so he pretends to congratulate them, and gives them gifts that they choose. The oldest brother chooses a wand – the most powerful wand in the world, and Death makes it for him, the Elder wand. The second brother wishes for a stone that can bring back the dead. The third wishes for a cloak of invisibility. Reluctantly, Death gives the brother his own cloak."

"The resurrection stone?" Hermione asked quietly, pulling the book back across the table to herself and looking over her own notes.

"Yeah," Ron frowned. "How do you know?"

"Dumbledore says he found it." Hermione said, and the room fell into silence.

"What?" Harry asked when it became apparent nobody else will.

"In the ring, he found the Resurrection stone. Apparently, he's been hunting for the Hallows for years. He doesn't go too much into it."

"So," Ron said, tapping the table lightly. "He didn't destroy the ring, because he found this Deathly Hallow, or so he thinks. So what happened to the ring? What happened to the stone?"

Hermione was putting food in her mouth just as Ron asked, and while she was glaring Harry leant back in his chair, pondering.

"I think the safest bet would be Hogwarts. His death came as a shock to everybody, not least of which himself, so I see no reason why he would have moved it from his office."

"Which is also where the sword is most likely to be," Hermione chimed in now that her food was swallowed. "And this stone."

"Breaking into Hogwarts," Harry remarked dryly.

"A place well known for being practically impenetrable." Ron finished.

"Practically," Hermione pressed. "But there are a lot of secret passages that most likely won't be being monitored, and a fair few that I'm pretty confident only we know of because of the Marauders Map."

"I'm not entirely following you," Ron said. "The passageway from the Shrieking Shack would get us onto Hogwarts grounds, sure, but it wouldn't get us into the castle itself."

"No," Harry admitted. "But the passageway in Honeydukes will. We don't have to break into a practically impenetrable castle - just a high end sweet shop."

Hermione was beaming and Ron was starting to smile. "It's that easy?"

"I see no reason why not," Hermione said. "With Snape as Headmaster the place will more than likely be crawling with Death Eaters – the trouble comes when we're inside."

"The Marauders Map and dad's cloak should help us there though," Harry pointed out, placing another forkful of bean into his mouth. "So as long as we're very careful, we should be able to do it stealthily."

"Unlike the Ministry." Ron pointed out.

"That was hardly our fault though, was it?" Harry said, and Ron stuck his tongue out at him. "I know we're exhausted, but I think the best time to go would probably be tonight. Maybe four or five in the morning? The Ministry was just hit, and the Death Eater's won't be expecting any sort of counterattack soon because of how slow the Wizengamot is. We sneak in and out at a time they're not expecting and we hopefully have our first Horcrux."

" _Hopefully,_ " Hermione echoed. "This is a very huge risk for an if. We came up with this idea not even a minute ago."

"I'm with Harry to be honest," Ron said, putting his knife and fork together on his cleared plate. "We need to go there and check it out at some point. We aren't under too much suspicion right now because technically we haven't run yet, but the longer we wait the more we lose that safety net."

"This is crazy," Hermione argued.

"Yeah," Harry nodded. "It's also our best course of action right now. The longer we wait the harder it's going to be."

Hermione chewed her bottom lip while she stabbed at her beans on toast softly. "Okay," she said eventually, and looked down at a delicate watch on her wrist. "I don't like it, for the record, but you're both right about timing. It's just gone past seven now. The very least we can do is to try and scout out Hogsmeade."

Ron let out a breath as Harry continued to eat. "The Shrieking Shack has a fireplace right? We could Floo into Hogsmeade through there."

Hermione nodded. "I don't have any Floo Powder though."

Ron beamed. "I do. Originally it was just to let my parents know I was safe when we got to Grimmauld, but it should be enough to get all three of us there. We'd all have to go in the fire together though."

"How would we get back?" Hermione asked.

That stumped all three of them for a little while. Harry finished his beans on toast and settled his chin into his hand as he thought. Hogwarts, as amazing as it was, was in a slightly annoying place geographically. As any castle was, it was designed to withstand attacks, and that included being difficult to get too in the first place. It resided on cliffs above a lake and there were vast hills and forests surrounding it. Besides Floo and brooms, the only way he could think of to get out was through Hogsmeade, and the –

His eyes widened slightly.

"What?" Hermione asked, and Harry looked at her. "You've just thought of something. What is it?"

"The Hogwarts Express." Harry said, slowly, as though testing the words as he said them. "Besides September first, it's stationed at Hogsmeade, isn't it?"

"Yeah," Hermione said. "Are you saying we steal a train?"

"That's exactly what I'm saying," Harry said. "If one of us stays in Hogsmeade and is waiting with the train, then two of us can break into Dumbledore's office and see what we can find. Then we sneak out of the Honeydukes passage to Hogsmeade and get to the train. I see absolutely no reason why this wouldn't work."

Ron stood up, picking his plate up as he did so. "It's as good a plan as any. So who does what?"

Harry hesitated. "I honestly have no idea how to drive a train. I don't even know where I'd start."

"Neither do I," Hermione said. "I passed my driving test this June, but a car is very different from a train."

"I do." Ron said.

"You do?" Hermione asked, surprised.

"Sure – the Hogwarts Express is a magical train, so it's just about controlling how much power it outputs. Dad was telling me a few years ago."

"And you know how to control that?" Harry asked sceptically.

"No," Ron admitted. "But I can figure it out. How hard can it be?"

* * *

When everything had been packed away, Ron, under instruction from Hermione, had gone to look up on Hermione's computer how to drive a train. He'd been incredibly excited about using Hermione's computer and internet, something Harry admitted he was jealous of too. The Dursleys didn't have any computer or internet at home, and had been adamant about how untrustworthy it was. Hermione's parents seemed to like being on the cutting edge of technology and even though the internet was seven years old now, Hermione was the first person Harry had ever met with a computer in their home. It had taken a while to start up, and the dial tone had sent Harry and Hermione out of the room in annoyance. Ron seemed unfazed though, so they left him to it.

"I still can't get over you being so messy," Harry said as they walked into Hermione's room, Hermione starting to clear Dumbledore's journals and notes onto her already piled desk.

Hermione snorted. "Unfortunately for the teachers of Hogwarts I am not as prim and proper as they might like to think."

"Don't I know it."

"Watch it Scarhead."

"Whatever you say Bookworm." Harry grinned, flopping onto her bed. "How are you feeling? What you thinking?"

Hermione started slightly when the pile on her desk shifted slightly, but not so much as to fall onto the floor. "I'm wondering where my mum and dad are right now." She said, satisfied that the pile wasn't going to shift again and moving over to the bed, laying next to Harry. "It feels like just yesterday we were worrying over homework, and now we're waiting to hear how many of our friends might be dead in a Ministry raid, and planning a heist on our old school."

"That's a lot of thoughts," Harry nodded as Hermione nestled in beside him. "And it _is_ crazy how fast things have moved, but at the same time I feel as though this is what everything's been building too since the Tri-Wizard tournament."

"Really?" Hermione mumbled. "Is that why you started taking everything so seriously after fifth year?"

"Yeah, but that's also because of good influences." Harry said, and Hermione looked up at him. "What? You're frighteningly smart, and it kind of rubs off just being around you. Ron's been getting into fitness ever since we saw that film with Arnie in at Christmas, and he's been bullying me into doing all these exercises with him too."

Hermione squeezed his bicep. "And now you're big and strong," she mocked.

"Sure," Harry said dryly. A comfortable silence fell over them for a little bit, and Harry surveyed the room, and then mock gasped.

"Huh?" The bushy brown head tucked into his chest said intelligently, looking up at him.

"Hermione Granger," Harry said in a mockingly stern voice. "I can't believe it. Is that… Is that _fiction_ on your bookshelf?"

Hermione rolled her eyes and slapped his arm. "I have interests outside of studying you know."

"But not outside of reading?"

"Stop being cheeky," She pouted, getting to her feet and moving across the room to the book. Harry hadn't realised just how comfortable he had been until she moved.

"I know you like reading," Harry said. "And though you haven't admitted it, I think you like writing too - I've seen you at the weekends in the Library when Ron and I are plotting pranks."

Hermione blushed at that. "Maybe. I've been trying to write my own _fiction_ ," she stressed, glaring at Harry who just stuck his tongue out. "Since fourth year."

"Can I read it?"

"Maybe another time," Hermione said, taking the Stephen King novel off the shelf and placing it on her bedside table as she got back on the bed, the pair of them sitting up now. "What about you Harry? I'm afraid I'm not quite as observant as you are. Everything I know you like is magical. Flying, Quidditch, even Chess I suppose. What do you do in the summer?"

Harry was quiet for a bit. "I like music." He said eventually. "When the Dursleys make me do their garden and all their chores I get to listen to whatever I want on the radio."

"Yeah?" Hermione asked cautiously. It was very rare for Harry to talk about life at the Dursleys.

"Yeah," Harry confirmed. "Dudley gave me his old broken radio and I fiddled with it a bit, so I got to listen to it all the time. I got Dudley's old keyboard too a few years ago and I can do a little bit, but I really want to learn guitar."

"I never knew you were so creative," Hermione admitted.

"You can talk," Harry scoffed, knocking her with his shoulder lightly. "I didn't realise how much magic kind of took over the conversations at Hogwarts if I'm honest. I think because I can't fly or play wizards chess anywhere outside of those months at school, everything else gets side-lined, you know? Magic was always just for those times."

"Not anymore though," Hermione reminded him, and Harry laughed.

"No, not anymore. But we have a war to get through first."

"Then lets get to it," Hermione said, standing up. "And afterwards I can publish books and you can sing songs."

Harry laughed. "In your dreams. I'm not singing for anybody."

"Not even me?"

"Not a chance Granger."


End file.
